


Love me I say, Love me I say

by Goober826



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Drabble, Emotion Abuse, Gen, I wrote this a while back when I was really feeling that abuse trauma and needed to shove it, Manipulation, Oneshot, Physical Abuse, Torture, abuse shove, dean suffers lol, praising, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 00:43:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12047751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goober826/pseuds/Goober826
Summary: Deans experience with Alastair was more complicated than what we thought.





	Love me I say, Love me I say

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! I'm going to update TDAFAASAH soon! I've got a few chapters for it written out already, but I'm going to try and be more prepared before I upload em.   
> So, in the meantime, here's something I wrote a while back because I was having a bit of an episode dealing with abuse trauma. Now that I read it again, I feel it's pretty good. Enjoy!

The first day in hell was something Dean wasn't ever prepared for. Nothing could prepare him.   
He was strung up by the walls of tissue that craved for the chunks of flesh the hell hound ripped out. The first thing Dean could even do was gasp and cough, a scream of pain caught in his throat as blood rushed through. The next thing Dean did was cry out for Sammy, the blood causing his scream to curdle. Everything felt like it was on fire, and it was something he couldn't escape. He was being tortured.   
Once he met Alastair, he didn't even understand the fact that he would haunt his nightmares forever. His head was drowning in pain, but it was all just getting started.   
Dean had never screamed so much in his life.   
Once the day was over, Alastair came up to Dean with a smug expression.   
"I'll make you a deal...I can take you off the rack, if you become my student in torture~!" He had said.   
"Stick it where the sun shines." Dean spat in return. Alastair laughed, and snapped his fingers.   
The second year, everything still hurt as much as the first day. Every day he'd cry and scream for Sammy, for Dad, even for Mom or Bobby. He knew they couldn't hear him, but his mind was like liquid. He didn't care or understand. He just wanted out.   
But there was no way he'd make people go through what he's dealing with.   
After ten years, Dean had learned exactly when Alastair wanted to ask him that same damn question. He made a habit of barking no right away. He learned how to laugh and insult Alastair as the man washed his intestines with holy water. He learned how to aim vomit at him when the pain made him sick. But he also developed instincts, things that told him to start trembling when he hears the tone of "Cheek To Cheek". Instincts that commanded him to brace everything the second he hears metal clack or wheels rolling. He was being shaped and carved more everyday.   
After thirty years, Dean was so, so tired. He learned how to laugh instead of scream. He learned how to spit the worst insults his damaged imagination let him think of instead of cry out for his little brother.   
But it all still hurt so much. He was going insane.   
He couldn't take it anymore.   
On the first day of the thirtieth year, Alastair smiled and approached him.   
"What do you say about being my student?" He chuckled.   
Dean couldn't do it anymore. He just couldn't. He needed it all to stop. He needed affection, care, someone to save him from the torture.   
"Yes."

"Now, Dean, I'd like to see what you've got first." Alastair said, smiling. In front of the two of them, there was a girl who couldn't be older than 20, probably someone who had made a deal as a goddamn child.   
"I-I...." Dean stuttered out. He held a knife in his trembling hand, staring at the already sobbing girl.   
"Just go ahead, Dean~! She won't hurt you." Alastair purred.   
Dean felt tears already in the corners of his eyes, as he gripped onto the blade. He swung it quickly across the girls belly, causing her to scream out and for Dean to drop the knife.   
"No no NO! Bad!" Alastair shouted, picking up the knife. He slammed it onto the table, and picked up another tool.   
"This is a lesson I will have to drill into you." He chuckled, holding something similar to a power drill. Dean winced and tried to step back, but he knew better. There was no escape.   
He let out a scream as he felt the tip plunge into his belly, and he began to cough and sputter. He doubled over, and felt himself get kicked.   
"OH COME ON! You've had worse than that! Stop being a scardy cat~!" Alastair both lectured and sang. Barely able to stand, Dean managed to get back into his feet, blood slightly dribbling from his mouth. He grabbed a power saw off of the table, and limped over to the girl.   
He placed the saw onto her chest, and looked at her.   
"I'm so sorry." He whispered, and flipped on the switch.   
The screams never stopped echoing in his head.

At the end of the day, he was drenched in the blood of others. He was panting. Guilt boiled inside of him.   
Alastair walked up, and smiled.   
"Good job."   
Good job? Good? It had been years since ANYONE gave Dean ANY reassurance or praise. He did good. He did good. Did good. Good.   
He did good.   
He wanted to do better.   
He wanted to be praised.   
He wanted to be loved.   
He needed to be loved.

The second day of torture was easier. He wanted to be good. He needed to be good.   
He followed every piece of advice his teacher gave him. He followed every command he was given. He gave the brightest of genuine smiles each and every time Alastair praised him.   
The guilt of hurting these people burned inside, but he tried to drown it with being better, with as many compliments as he could squeeze out from Alastair. He needed something saying he's doing good, even if it meant adding fuel to the fire of guilt.

By the second year, Dean learned how to laugh in return to screams. He learned to smile when people cried in agony.   
He learned to rip, tear, shred everyone as excitement and joy boiled inside of him. He learned to enjoy it.   
He wanted to be better. He needed more praise.   
"Another day of torture, oh how this is paradise~!" Laughed Alastair. Dean nodded as he walked behind him.   
"Yes- uh- d-did I do good today?" He asked. Alastair laughed.   
"Do you think you have the right to ask that?" He replied. Dean felt a weight drop inside him.   
"Y-yes...? I-I did good, right!?" He felt his heart pounding against his ribcage.   
"I don't think you've earned any praise!" Alastair sang. Dean felt himself boil over.   
"TELL ME I DID GOOD!!" He screamed out.   
Before he knew it, Alastair had him pinned, and blood was already rushing up his throat as he felt himself cut open and razor blades poured in. He screamed, but his voice was gurgled by the crimson pushing out.   
By the tenth year of torturing, Dean was cold. Everything inside him was screaming, but nothing could ever come out. He just tortured, and tortured, and tortured. He was an attack dog, following all commands. He only felt joy in torturing. It was the only thing left. This was him.   
One day, he woke up, but he wasn't in hell. He wasn't in pain. His wounds were gone, the blood the screaming...all of it.   
It was dark.   
Everything within him screamed it hadn't been long as it felt. Instincts and feelings he thought had vanished were back. Memories of before were fresher.   
He was back.


End file.
